Let Go
by At A Venture
Summary: BTVS/SVM crossover. Before the Revelation, Eric meets a certain vampire slayer. AU.


_A/N: Slightly AU fic, pre-Revelation. Some knowledge of BTVS is probably helpful, but completely not required. _

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**Let Go**

I had heard her name mentioned, particularly among younger vampires, weaker vampires. They feared her, and rightly so I imagined. The slayer has enough power and enough resources to strike terror in those lesser creatures, those that had not learned to remain under the radar. When you survive for more than a few centuries in a world that does not like you or understand you, you learn to avoid the stakes of your enemies. I knew the legend all too well, though I have not ever met a vampire slayer personally. She is a mortal woman, possessed with inhuman strength, agility, and a power to heal that almost rivals our own. She is chosen by the same magic that allows vampires to go on living after death, a magic that none of us really understands. She hunts the predators of man, the things that lurk in the dark, and she's more than capable of keeping some of them in line. She is a force to be reckoned with, a creature misunderstood by my younger brethren.

"The girl is here," Pam chuckled, closing her cellular phone. She dropped the device in her small powder blue handbag and gave me a sly smile.

"Which girl?" I shrugged, dropping the wrist of the young redhead from which I'd taken my last meal. The human's cheek slumped against the armrest of my leather sofa, and she murmured in her comatose slumber.

"The slayer," Pam replied thoughtfully. She scooped up our meal and tossed her lightly over her left shoulder. "She has killed a few vampires in Area Two. They say she's headed north, to pay us a visit."

"We don't congregate with slayers, Pam. There's no need to associate with unnecessary dangers." I picked up my book from the side table and stretched out across the sofa cushions.

"She's a special girl, Eric." Pam shifted the leftover human, readjusting her sagging limbs. "Haven't you heard about her?"

"Only in passing," I frowned. Obviously Pam had more to say on the matter, so I lifted my head to look at her. Her red lips had pulled back into a laughing sneer.

"She is called Buffy Summers, and she has had two vampire lovers,"

"Anyone we know?"

"Angelus was one of them," Pam murmured, distracted by her thoughts. "I don't recall the name of the other."

"Angelus, the brooding, cursed one that kills his own kind?" I inquired curiously.

"Yes, I think so."

"She certainly has good taste. What else do you know about her?"

"She's your type." Pam laughed, tossing back her pretty hair. I couldn't help but smirk at her reaction. My type? "Pretty blondes with spunk."

"Ah, that type," I grinned, getting to my feet. "And you say she's coming here for a visit?"

"From what I hear,"

News of her presence spread to our ears a week later when the Slayer rolled into Area Five and squatted in an old mausoleum in the Shreveport Cemetery. Interesting accommodations to be sure. Only the poorest vampires loomed in the cemeteries. Those of us who had any sense of decorum purchased a home, as my child and I had done. Still, despite her choice in temporary dwellings, I let my curiosity get the better of me. Under a full moon, I took a leisurely stroll through the city. It wasn't difficult to spot her, panting and grunting as she thrust a fierce kick into the gut of a young vampire I only vaguely recognized. He dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes, crumbling in the damp, dewy grass.

She was just as Pam had described: a pretty blonde with spunk. And yet, there was more that I could see in her, even at a distance. She'd left her long wavy hair flowing over her shoulders, rather than tie it up and out of the way behind her head. Her denim jeans were tight, constricting around her thin musculature. She wore a black tank top over a lacy dark blue brassiere. She wasn't afraid to get dirty, but neither was she particularly worried about the possibility. The slayer was confident in her abilities, in her speed and her skill. She drove the stake through her opponent as easily as a pencil piercing a piece of paper.

"Slayer 1, Louisiana vampires 0," she smirked. Her voice was light and creamy, the dialect a non-descript Western. She pushed a hand absently through her hair, tucking one of the loose curls behind her ear. Two small silver hoops decorated the lobe.

"Hey, Lurky Lurkerson, I can feel your eyes on me okay? So quit with the stealth mode. Come out and face me. It's still early!"

I chuckled, raising an eyebrow. She was a vixen, more than spunky, more than pretty. I walked down the gravel path, letting my shoes crunch on the ground. If she was surprised to see me at all, she didn't let the emotion show on her face. Her eyes were bright and green, and her lips were painted a shimmering rouge. Her gorgeous skin was tanned from exposure to the California sun, and I could almost taste it when I came to stand before her.

"Tall, blonde, and handsome. Boy, they really breed a different kind of vamp down here, don't they?" She set herself in a fighting stance, withdrawing the weapon from the pocket of her jeans. Her chest leapt with each excited breath. She was a hunter, and she lusted for the kill.

"You're ready to fight again? We haven't even had a chance to exchange pleasantries." I smiled at the girl, likely not much over the age of twenty.

"Aw, you lonely? Need a hug before becoming a big ol' dust bunny? Fine. I'm Buffy Summers, vampire slayer."

"Eric," I nodded to her. "I hear through the grapevine that you are the former lover of Angelus."

"I… Look, that isn't any business of yours." If she had had hackles, she would have raised them defensively.

"I have never met him, only heard of his curse, that he has turned on his own kind."

"He goes by Angel now," she said hesitantly. There were words unspoken, but I did not inquire further. "Look, can we just fight now?"

"Fight?" I chuckled, tilting my head to one side. "I'm not going to fight you, Buffy."

"Oh come on, you scared? Big bad slayer's in town and you're gonna hide with your tail between your legs?"

"Hardly," I laughed. I reached out for her, and grasped her wrist, yanking her close. The stake dropped from her fingers and clattered on the pebbled ground. She released a tiny gasping sound, and the moonlight glinted from her shining lips. "You're a guest in my area, Buffy. Allow me to give you the grand tour."

"Don't think so, Blondie!" She grunted and threw her other fist up, giving me a good crack across the cheek. I was impressed, certainly, and I dropped her arm. She bounced to the ground to retrieve her weapon and threw a leg out to kick at my heels. She fought with fervor and grace.

"Come now, Miss Summers. If we fight, I will kill you. And I really have no desire to kill you."

"You seem pretty confident!" She thrust out another punch and I stepped aside to avoid it. Her mouth turned down, showing her frustration. She clenched her teeth and kicked the ground, throwing her body into the air. Her leg flew out again, this time at chest level. I grabbed her by the ankle and tossed her down, forcefully but with some sense of gentility. She grasped for a breath, panting as the wind escaped her. I knelt at her side, wrapped a hand around her throat, and squeezed.

"I'm surprised he ever let you go, Slayer," I grinned, studying her features a second time. She fumed and fought me, but kept her eyes away from my gaze. No matter. I wanted her to remember me.

"Things change. Gotta roll with the punches." She seethed.

"Yes, I have learned that lesson as well." I released her, and she wriggled out from under me, kicking my shin with the toe of her boot. The pain was minimal, with little power behind the attack, but I waited for her to stand. There was hostility in her, and I wanted to harness it.

She was at once offensive and defensive, throwing attacks that I chose to accept or deflect. I cornered her within the walls of a dusty mausoleum, shoved her against the cobwebbed side of a marble sarcophagus, and punched her deftly in the mouth. Her lower lip split open under my knuckles and before she could protest, I kissed it, suckling her mouth, licking her tongue. She fought for a moment, shoving her hands into my chest so fiercely that I almost gave way. Almost. I resumed my hold on her throat and shoved my tongue down her throat.

"Yield to me, Slayer," I whispered into her mouth. She was trembling now, and her nerves cracked and popped with stress. Her shoulders weighed down with the fight that still raged in her blood, but I could already smell the heat of lust on her skin.

"No," she breathed, but her body disagreed. Her hand snaked up my arm and she dug her fingers into me.

"I won't force you," I murmured as I trailed my tongue along the rigid line of her clenched jaw. "But I will have you."

"You seem pretty sure of yourself."

"Whereas you are unsure," I grinned. The excitement and fear rolled off her in waves. She was not afraid of me, of that I'm certain. She was afraid of what she might do, what she might submit to doing.

I let go of her, just to see what action she would take. She was a strong opponent, perfectly capable of bringing me harm should she choose to do so, should I be careless enough to underestimate her. The flesh of her throat bristled. I took a step back so that my hips no longer pinned her to the slab of stone at her back. The slayer shivered. Her fingers dug into her palms as she made fists with them. I could smell blood where she'd pierced the layers of rough skin. Her eyes darted to and fro as her mind and body fought one another.

Finally, she raised her eyes to me. They were emeralds, teaming with power and lust. Heat radiated from her center and filled the cold grave. She took a step toward me, and her arm flew out. I allowed her the punch, a blow that broke the skin across my left cheek bone. When I didn't falter nor attack, she was on me. Her arms flew around my neck and her mouth met mine with an undeniable hunger. It had been a long time since she'd had the pleasure of a vampire, and she wouldn't waste the opportunity.

I turned and flung her against the dirty wall, blowing a spiral of ancient dust into the thick air. She clawed at the buttons on my wrinkled shirt, and I pulled her top from her. There were no breaks in her golden tan, as though she'd been born such a mesmerizing color. I sucked on her clavicle, let my hands roam over her well-defined musculature, drank in her scent like an elixir. She was a fierce lover and she dragged her manicured fingernails along my skin, leaving red shadows on my abdomen. She tugged at my belt buckle, plucked the button on my jeans loose, and was ready to tear them away when I grabbed her wrists in either of my hands and shoved her against the wall.

"Easy, lover," I grinned. "It's still early."

"Don't!" She spat, disgust evident on her tongue. "Don't call me lover."

"My sincerest apologies," I chuckled. "What would you prefer?"

"Slayer," she breathed.

She was a killer through and through. I pushed her roughly against the wall and bent my head to graze my fangs across her throat. Fucking her would be like wrestling a crocodile into submission, and I was looking forward to the task. I tore the brassiere from her and freed the pert breasts from their imprisonment. Her skin flushed and she fought deliberately against my grasp. I pulled one of her nipples into my mouth and bit down, breaking the skin.

"Slayer," I moaned into her flesh. The girl shuddered and fought again. Her arms flexed and she bucked her hips toward mine. Anxiety rolled through her veins, and I was distinctly aware of how many times she had not been bitten by her various lovers. Her blood tasted like fire, like passion and bloodlust. I unbuttoned her jeans and yanked them down to her knees. Her scent filled my nostrils. I couldn't contain a growl.

"Eric," she gasped. I slid a finger under the thin sheer material of her undergarments and stroked the damp skin contained therein. Instantly, she squirmed. Her thighs quivered and she bounced back against the wall for support. I hooked the material and peeled it away. I pressed my thumb between her lips and stroked the tender nub tucked between them.

A spasm went through her, as though a foreign body had not touched her in some time. Surprising given her beauty, her strength, and her obvious desire, but perhaps the fight in her scared some would-be suitors away. Her flesh rippled as I circled the ball of nerve endings, flicking it every so often just to listen to her whimper. I released her arms and crouched in front of her. Her hands fell into my hair as I parted her pink lips with my tongue.

Her hips rolled suddenly forward and she jerked her hands up, still holding onto my mane. A bolt of pain shot from my scalp down the back of my neck and I stood up suddenly, growling in her face. She let go of my hair and grabbed my shoulders, and in an instant, she threw me back against the wall. She ignored the coils of dust that drifted up into the ceiling. Her mouth was ferocious on mine, and she bit down on my lower lip, drawing a drop of blood that she did not take the time to swallow.

"I don't yield to anyone," she fumed. Her mouth fell to my chest, and she captured my nipple in her mouth, in her teeth. I could not help but whimper with pleasure at her roughness, her spirit. She would not be tamed easily, if at all. The girl was more than a challenge. She was an adventure. I do love an adventure. I watched her as she succeeded in bruising me, even if only for a moment.

"Before the night is over, Slayer," I groaned as her hand dipped eagerly into my pants. "You will yield to me."

She was not a tender lover, and though she seemed more gentle when she dropped to her knees and took my shaft into her mouth, I was not surprised when her teeth grazed over my fragile skin. I shot a hand into her hair and pulled the golden waves into my fists. She stroked and sucked upon me, a bitch in heat, and I threw my head back in exaltation. I took the back of her neck in my hand, but she pushed it away, her sharp fingernails digging into my flesh again. The slayer was vicious, wanton.

She stood up suddenly and mounted me as I leaned into the marble, her thighs clutching my hips. I lunged forward, throwing her over the lid of the nearest tomb. We tugged at one another desperately, and her moans were music in my ears. I'd never had a lover quite like her, a woman without a shred of fear. She watched my movements. I couldn't tear my self away.

We reached the heights of bodily bliss together, and I sprawled atop her for a moment, claimed by exhaustion. She panted underneath me, and turned her head slightly to see the moon still hovering in the sky. The night was still young.

"Get off," she grunted, pushing her forearm against my neck. I stood up slowly and pulled out of her. She jumped wearily down from the lid of the sarcophagus and snatched at the pants she'd abandoned. "I have work to do."

"Ever the hunter," I chuckled, watching her hips sway.

"I came here to stop creatures like you, and that's just what I intend to do." She didn't look at me when she spoke, and I could taste shame in the space between us.

"You kill vampires, and yet you take your pleasure from them," I placed a hand upon her shoulder and spun her around, shoving her back against that wall we'd come to know so intimately.

"One orgasm doesn't excuse the lives you've taken." She narrowed her eyes at me.

"But more than one, Slayer? Does that excuse me?"

I ripped the pants from her hips, the ones she'd pulled on but forgotten when I'd approached her. I thrust my fingers inside her to find the slick river of her pleasure still hot and sticky and ready. She tore at me, fought me, and swung her fists through the air at me. I let her have her fight, and I let her make contact with my cheek, my shoulder, and my jaw. Still I jerked my fingers in and out of her, every so often adding another until all but my thumb filled her. She gasped and writhed, clawed at my neck and chest, drew blood.

"Oh," she moaned, her voice deep, sunken in darkness.

"Look at me, Slayer." I rumbled, pushing my free hand under her chin.

"No," she murmured. "I won't…"

"I won't glamour you, Buffy. Look at me."

"I don't trust you…" she whispered hoarsely.

"That's neither here nor there, Slayer. Look at me."

Finally, she lifted her eyes and stared purposefully into mine. Her irises were globes of green fire, and her pupils were pitch black and dilated. She twitched and trembled in my hands, and the combat in her mind was palpable. I stroked her cheek with the side of my finger. I thrust my hand harshly up into her and flicked the bed of nerve endings inside her canal. She cried out, but she did not break her stare.

"Let go, Slayer." I murmured softly, stroking the nerves again. "Yield to me."

The knees quivered violently with adrenaline, and suddenly gave out. I pressed a knee between her thighs to hold her up, and I continued to manipulate her insides. She did not take her eyes from me, but every ounce of blood and sinew fought me. Her independence, her spirit tortured her, kept her from letting me in. She was the barrier of magic that kept vampires at bay despite an open door, and I wasn't going to be able to fight my way inside. She would have to invite me in. She couldn't bear to invite me in.

"Buffy," I groaned, kissing her mouth as I watched her. "Let go."

Her arms dropped from where they'd been scratching viciously at my flesh. Blood dribbled from healing wounds. The tension in her seemed to seep from her fingertips as it escaped her body. I stroked her more deliberately, thrust into her more tenderly, and finally allowed her to close her eyes. She rocked against the wall, letting the sensation of pleasure in, filling her up where rage had left a void. Her lips quavered, and she whimpered and cried. I captured her tongue as she rose up again in ecstasy. I entered her as she came.

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**The End. **


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